


The One With the Blue Hair

by orphan_account



Category: letsplay, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Markiplier - Freeform, markiplier imagines, markiplier preferences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were fine with the pink. It took a while to get used to, and you honestly didn’t think that he would go through with it at all. But, if you knew anything about Mark, you knew that he was serious about giving back through charity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With the Blue Hair

You were fine with the pink. It took a while to get used to, and you honestly didn’t think that he would go through with it at all. But, if you knew anything about Mark, you knew that he was serious about giving back through charity.

When he came to you with the idea, you told him that you were fine with any decision he landed on. When he told you he’d be dying his hair pink, you nodded and smiled and told him that it would be great, even though you were screaming inside. His beautiful dark hair, ruined with bleach and then bright pink hair dye? A small part of you died that day, you’re sure of it.

You wanted to be supportive, so you never said anything negative about his idea, nor did you try to persuade him towards a different, less dramatic option. You thought about the many possibilities over the next couple of days, but none of them seemed to be worthy of even mentioning.

Maybe he could shave his head? You could take shaving cream and a razor to it. After thinking it over, you were sure that you’d prefer pink hair to a completely bald Mark any day of the week.

What about a tattoo? Just a small one somewhere not incredibly visible at first glance – something to commemorate the event. You knew he wouldn’t go for that, as he never planned on any tattoos – well, ever.

Possibly, just possibly, you could convince him to go for a deep purple, a shade not too far off his natural color. He’d still be dying his hair, but the change wouldn’t send you straight into a panic attack.

You knew none of these suggestions would work – they were all either _too_ dramatic, or not dramatic enough. So, you spent the day before his appointment running your fingers through his natural hair, playing with it as the two of you laid on the couch and watched reruns of whatever home renovation show was on. You braided small pieces of it, immediately took the braids out, and started over once again, repeating this process for a good half hour. You even smelled it, and when Mark asked why, you told him that you weren’t sure how the dye would change the scent. He looked at you and blinked slowly before you told him to shut up and quit judging you.

But, when the day finally came and he returned home with a bright pink floof on top of his head, you were pleasantly surprised. The pink he had chosen was gorgeous, and although you knew it would fade, the sheer luminosity of it made you smile whenever you looked at it. You didn’t totally hate it – you actually quite enjoyed it – which was an incredible relief after the anxiety you had been experiencing.

Over time, his hair turned into a mixture of cotton candy pinks with some pieces turning a bit orange, almost as if he were sporting a sunset on his scalp. One time, he let you blow dry and style it so that it looked like a bouncy cloud, the baby pink so soft that you couldn’t keep your hands away from it.

You had gotten so used to it that you couldn’t remember what he looked like without it. You would scroll through his Instagram feed just for a reminder. You even told him that you were beginning to prefer the pink over his natural color, which surprised the two of you in equal amounts, you’re sure.

So, when he came home with bright blue hair without even telling you he was going through with a color change, you screamed. You were shocked at the switch, and if you’re honest, you do believe that your heart stopped when he walked into the bedroom the two of you shared with a wave of blue on his head.

You had been cuddled up in bed catching up on some backlogged emails, Chica laying right next to you in Mark’s spot, her head on his pillow. When he walked through the door to your room, you said hello before looking up from your screen. The only thing that caused your eyes to flick up to him was the fact that Chica began whimpering next to you.

“AGH!” you screamed, involuntarily slamming your laptop shut. Chica whined and moved closer to you, her tail in between her legs as she stood up to gain shelter from your arms. “Holy shit! What?! It’s…” you started, rubbing the frightened dog’s ears, “it’s – _shit_ – it’s _blue_!”

“It’s definitely blue,” Mark nods, running his fingers through it, fluffing it up and out of place. Almost seeming a little self-conscious, he walks closer to the bed with his arms outstretched towards Chica. “It’s still me, Pupper Schnup! Just different hair,” she immediately calms when she hears his voice and her tail begins to thump against the duvet. She walks slowly towards Mark on the bed, wiggling the entire way to him.

You don’t blame Chica for having the reaction that she does. It’s almost ridiculous how different Mark looks, and for a second, you wonder if she even can tell the difference in the color, or if she can just sense a change in shade. You watch as Mark plays with her, allowing her to sniff as much of him as she needs to in order to make sure that _yes_ , _this human is my dad_ , and _yes_ , _I will allow him to pet me._

“Holy shit,” you say. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”

And it’s the only thing you can say for a good two minutes.

“Are you okay?” your blueberry of a boyfriend asks after you stare at him for longer than he deems comfortable.

“Yes,” you nod. “I just didn’t expect you to come home with _blue hair_. I thought maybe a darker pink like the first time. But it’s really fucking blue.”

“Do you like it?”

“I mean,” you begin, closing and opening your mouth five or six times before you can say anything coherent. “Yes,” you decide. And, really, you _do_ like it. At this point, you’re sure he could pull any color on the spectrum off. If you can rock blue hair, there isn’t much you _couldn’t_ rock. “I do like it.”

The next morning when you wake up before him, you gasp and bury your face into the pillows. For a moment, you’d forgotten that your bedmate had decided to dye his hair the color of a blue raspberry popsicle. You slowly lift your head from the pillow to take a look at the shock of blue lying next to you. It’s not the craziest thing he’s ever done as your boyfriend, and you can’t help but love his willingness to try new things.

“What’re we going to do with him, girl?” you ask the golden retriever at the foot of your bed, who had been startled awake by your gasp.

Chica lifts her head, shifts her gaze towards a sleeping Mark and then back to you again. She sighs deeply, as if she understands exactly what you are questioning, and lays her head back down.


End file.
